B-movies, cult worship, LSD, bikers, peepshow girls and a pulsing mother lode of long-haired, down-tuned distortion – that’s Uncle Acid and The Deadbeats. The British sludge-rockers arrived via a time-travelling spacecraft fuelled by blood, sex and lava lamp goo straight from the 1960s.
Local support Child dropped in first with rolling journeys dirtier than a bong-soaked carpet orgy. The Cherry Rock favourites are one of the leaders in Melbourne’s ever-rumbling riff-fed underground, and they were perfect match to fire up Uncle’s session.
Our overlord tonight was one Kevin Starrs. Having previously released a Christmas single under the moniker The Sharon Tate Experience, the sermon he served up for Sunday mass was unassuming yet wholly alluring. Charles Manson’s in-jail marriage may have fallen through, but The Family’s violent, drug-fuelled, carnal magnetism oozed through The Deadbeats’ amplifiers and swallowed up the crowd. Clawed fingers crept out under the doors and through the walls of the Corner and out into the night. Shadows were set forth, prowling down Swan Street’s alleys in search of supple prey like the luscious Melody Lane.
Heavy, subterranean bass got necks rolling across the darkened room in universal appreciation. Beards swung and beers swilled in curvy fuzz-laden ecstasy. Uncle Acid and co’s warmth felt like lying naked in a bath of warm chocolate fudge, lighting huge candles and listening to worn Sabbath vinyls for days. Their loud, body-shuddering sound is dirty brown bordering on black. As the lights went down and beers ran out on every tap, the sold out Corner’s reverence was palpable.
BY JAMES RIDLEY
Photo by Ian Laidlaw
Loved: Starrs’ black stiletto heels.
Hated: Being told I was “behind Triple M” for not knowing Uncle Acid sooner.
Drank: TheKool Aid.
